


Fidelity

by fwooshy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divorce, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, playing fast & loose with magical theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwooshy/pseuds/fwooshy
Summary: Draco wasn’t exactly surprised when Astoria invited him to lunch with her friend and her friend’s husband that Sunday. What was surprising was that her friend’s husband was Harry Potter.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	Fidelity

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to warn that Draco thinks Harry is cheating on Ginny here! But it ends up being a misunderstanding, so I didn't tag explicitly as infidelity.

Draco wasn’t exactly surprised when Astoria invited him to lunch with her friend and her friend’s husband that Sunday. Their divorce had been amicable, and their subsequent years co-parenting nearly delightful. Draco discovered that he rather liked Astoria when he only had to put up with the parts of Astoria that agreed with him. And if she said or did anything that didn’t agree with him, or embarrassed him, or was self-destructive, then that was her problem to deal with, and not his. He didn’t have to pretend to take her side on it later that night in bed, even if they did still live in the same Manor.

And it wasn’t as though they were lacking in conversation. They had a lot in common. Their parents had both coerced them into marriage, after all. And their situations were the same too; for one, they were both single parents of a precocious little blonde boy. So when it came to events like balls or weddings or funerals or lunch with the colleagues, those sort of occasions where at their age it would be uncomfortable for them to attend alone, they brought the other. Sometimes they even wore their rings, to make things easier.

So Draco wasn’t exactly surprised when Astoria invited him to lunch with her friend and her friend’s husband that Sunday. What was surprising was that her friend’s husband was Harry Potter.

Astoria swept into his bedroom the morning before the scheduled lunch and forcibly stopped Draco from looping an ascot cravat around his neck. 

“I knew this would happen,” Astoria declared, “You can’t wear dress robes to a  _ Muggle barbeque place _ , didn’t I tell you last night?”

“This is all your fault,” Draco complained. “You couldn’t have made a less famous friend. One that didn’t require hiding out at Muggle establishments just to have  _ lunch _ . We could have hosted them, the house-elves have been dying to plan something a bit more tasteful, I think they miss Mother —”

“Look, I’m not pleased either, but Ginny insisted, and I couldn’t say no.”

“Said no to me plenty before,” Draco grumbled under his breath.

Astoria tossed him a pair of jeans. He stumbled back, barely catching it. He supposed he deserved that. Merlin, he hated denim. 

“She wants me to meet her husband. Says he’s important to her life. Merlin knows why. He must be the least interesting person in the world. I mean, I don’t have to convince you that Harry Potter is awful. I’m always telling her she should just file for divorce as we did —” she flashed a grin at Draco then, throwing him a grey turtleneck, “except not, because you know, I still like you. And I think she’s better off never bothering with him again.”

Draco obediently pulled the turtleneck over his head. Then he moved onto the belt, the overcoat. He paused at the leather trainers, wanting mightily to protest, but when he looked up he saw that there was a sort of twitch in the corner of her eye, a twitch that he’d only seen before high stakes Quidditch games.

“This is really important to you, isn’t it,” Draco said. He hadn’t realized. She didn’t care for most social engagements, especially not ones that required her to change out of her Quidditch leathers.

“Yeah, well,” she mumbled.

And there it was again. Astoria never mumbled. Or, rather, she only mumbled when she was nervous. And Astoria was  _ never _ nervous. “There’s nothing that stinks more of weakness than nerves,” she always said.

“If I knew any better I’d say you had a crush on her,” Draco drawled. He laced up the left trainer. 

“Oh please go on, dearest,” Astoria snorted, “You’re making me want to divorce you all over again.”

Draco moved onto the right trainer. It didn’t feel too bad, he thought, wiggling his toes. The sole was cushioned.

Astoria had just begun writing for the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet with Ginny Weasley so the two of them spent most of lunch talking shop. Ginny had a sort of mad glint in her eyes that reminded Draco of wildfire. She’d make mean little digs like, “I think it’s not Baddock’s flying that’s the problem, it’s the formations. They’re complicated to the point of ostentation and it’s a bit too much to keep in his pretty little head,” and then she’d look around the table. Astoria would laugh too loud, obviously smitten. Harry would laugh too, a sort of chuckle just short of affection.

Draco forgot to laugh the first time, and Ginny latched onto him like a piranha. Draco was then forced to say something vague and noncommittal like, “Baddock’s not bad, he’s just green,” to which Ginny rolled her eyes at Astoria as though sharing a sort of secret joke, except it was no secret to anyone at the table that she was thinking, “Men, they think they know everything about Quidditch just because they played a few years at Hogwarts.”

So Draco learned quickly when to laugh, and spent the rest of lunch sitting across from Harry and picking at his chicken.

“Not to your liking?” Harry asked softly when Draco had turned the chicken leg over for the fourth time.

It would have been wrong to say that Harry looked the same as he did back when they were both still at Hogwarts when Draco had known Harry best. They had both just crossed over to their forties, after all, and comparing the face and stature of a forty-year-old man to one of a seventeen-year-old boy was both inaccurate and insulting. And yet when Draco looked upon the tangle of Harry’s bangs, his scar just barely showing, Draco couldn’t help but think that Harry hadn’t changed at all.

“It’s fine,” Draco said about the chicken, and then quickly added, “More than fine. Lovely. Thank you,” when Ginny tilted her head toward him. He took a large swallow of wine.

“Isn’t she absolutely amazing,” Astoria gushed later that night. They were sitting on the porch looking out at the garden like they did almost every night these days. It was surprising how quickly they’d readjusted to their previous lives now that Scorpius was at Hogwarts.

Draco uncorked the bottle and poured into her glass. “I don’t think she likes me very much,” he confessed.

“Nonsense,” Astoria said. “She told me that she thought very highly of you.”

“When did she say that?” Draco asked, surprised. He hadn’t left Astoria’s side since lunch.

“Oh you know,” Astoria professed secretively. But it turned out Ginny had just owled her while Draco had been in the cellar selecting another bottle of wine. So it was no big mystery, really. Ginny had talked through so much of lunch that by now Draco thought he could write her biography. Of the two, Harry was by far the bigger mystery. Draco wasn’t surprised at that either though. Harry had always been a mystery to him.

Astoria wrinkled her nose when he told her that. She said, “No, he’s not. He’s just shallow. He only seems mysterious because you’d think there would be more to see, but if you tried diving into his depths you’d just crack your head.”

Draco didn’t speak for a while after that. He thought of Harry as though he were a body of water, and Draco was circling on top, wary and yet unbiddenly curious of what lurked below.

“Stop that,” Astoria said. She jerked his hand hard so that he was forced to look at her. Then she said, “Listen to me. Harry Potter is very simple. He goes to work every day, where he bosses around a parade of thugs who’d rather use their fists than their words or even their wands to keep people in line. Then he comes home and has a beer and ignores his children. He’s no more than an inattentive husband, alright? Stereotypical in every way. I honestly don’t get what Ginny sees in him. I mean,  _ honestly _ .”

But that was it, Draco thought. Ginny Weasley saw something in him. So Draco couldn’t be the only one curious.

The next time Draco saw Harry was at Harry and Ginny’s place on Grimmauld. Ginny was hosting a get-together for her friends at work. It turned out that the Prophet employed a rather incestuous lot since everyone’s plus-ones also seemed to work for the Prophet. Everyone, except Draco, of course, who did nothing, and Harry, who was the head of the DMLE.

As the Head of the DMLE, Harry was the subject of many of Astoria’s coworker’s ongoing investigations and thus found himself unwanted in their little spheres of conversation. Draco thought Harry reminiscent of a lion asleep behind a pane of glass; there was no tangible reason to be afraid of him, but the others nevertheless regarded him with a sort of latent wariness that they couldn’t quite seem to shake.

So Draco, being the only other pariah, found himself relegated to the corner of the kitchen, compelled to make conversation with Harry. They didn’t have much to talk about. Harry had no hobbies outside of his work and his children, and Draco — Draco had strange hobbies.

“Astoria tells me you’re making strides with the DMLE,” Draco praised, sounding forced even to himself.

“I wouldn’t say good. But I have. What about you?”

“I — oh. No. Haven’t got much of the time to,” Draco trailed off, leaving it at that. He didn’t like to explain how he didn’t work if he didn’t have to.

“I’m sure you read Astoria’s columns,” Harry said, dragging the corpse of their conversation along.

Draco winced. He didn’t, actually. He’d stopped caring so much about Quidditch around the same time he stopped playing. He expected Harry to be disappointed, another avenue of polite conversation lost, but to his surprise, Harry only smirked conspiratorially, and said, “I don’t read Ginny’s either.”

“What  _ do _ you read, then?” Draco asked.

“Mostly manuals. When you buy Muggle appliances or electronics, most of the time they come with these pamphlets so you’ll know how to operate them. Here, I’ll show you one.” He reached into his pocket and produced a tiny manual that fits in the palm of his hand, that he wandlessly enlarged.

The manual was thick and its pages blinding white. The cover was blue and shiny. Over it proclaimed,  _ Toastmaster Plus _ . Draco took it in his hands and flipped to a random page.

“I would not consider this literature,” Draco announced as he scanned through the extensive lists of Dos and Don’ts. “ _ Do not touch hot surfaces _ ,” he read out loud. “Surely even you know not to touch a hot surface, Potter.”

Harry laughed. Draco watched as Harry’s brow creased, his scar wrinkling under the movement. A sort of protectiveness tightened in Draco’s chest. He realized with a sinking feeling that he would do anything to make Harry laugh again.

“This is a toaster. It’s like a miniature oven made just for sliced bread,” Harry said, motioning toward a shiny silver object about the size of a dictionary behind Draco.

Draco poked at it. “This is too flimsy to be silver,” he declared.

Harry laughed again. “Of course it’s not silver. If toasters were made of silver then there would be no silver left for anything else.”

“Well, go on then. Show me how it works.”

“Ah, it doesn’t,” Harry said, scratching sheepishly behind his head, “That’s why I was reading the manual. We’ve wired Grimmauld Place so that it should be able to work when I plug it in, but when I try, it never does.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Draco said. Harry quirked his brow, which Draco took as an invitation to continue. “Your house is brimming with generations of magic. Obviously, it’ll reject electricity. I’m surprised it even let you do the wiring.”

“I thought that was an anti-Muggle myth,” Harry said. “Ron and Hermione have a house that can handle both, and it’s in Ottery St. Catchpole.”

Draco wasn’t sure. Everything he knew told him that mixing Magic and electricity was impossible. But if there was anything consistent about his life, it was that he was often mistaken. “It’s possible,” he started to say. But then his eye caught a flash of red outside the kitchen window. Ginny and Astoria were alone in the backyard, smoking and laughing, their heads pressed close together. Astoria didn’t smoke, so Draco knew she’d only pretended to get Ginny alone, and Ginny didn’t seem to be protesting.

Draco felt a warm breath beside him. Harry had moved over, probably to see what Draco had been looking at.

“It’s fine,” Harry said.

“I’ll go get her,” Draco said, feeling guilty. He felt responsible for Astoria. Even though, he knew — 

“Really, it’s fine. There’s no need,” Harry said, a placid smile plastered on his face, as though he’d grown accustomed to watching other women flirt with his wife. He waved a hand at Draco’s glass. “Do you want a top-up?”

“I saw you,” Draco said.

“Okay?” Astoria countered, blasé. She was sprawled across Draco’s bed, still drunk. Her hair was a tangled mess. She had insisted on riding her broom back to the manor. She probably thought it’d impress Ginny. The mere thought of it made Draco nauseous.

“I saw you flirting with her,” he accused.

“Okay?” She sat up on the edge of Draco’s bed so that she looked at him while he paced across the room. She was trying her hardest to look bored.

“She’s  _ married _ .”

“He’s  _ awful _ , Draco. You should hear what she tells me about him. He’s like this — this  _ shell _ of a man, Ginny says some days she feels like he’s her fourth child. Do you know they even sleep in separate rooms? I bet they haven’t had sex in  _ months _ .”

“You’re awful,” Draco declared. “You’re actually awful. And you’re  _ still _ drunk. What were you thinking, riding home on your broom in that wind? Thinking you’d impress her with your hair looking like Bellatrix _? _ ”

She gasped. “You did not just compare me to your awful aunt, the one who tried to  _ kill _ Ginny. You know you've got a lot of nerve these days, did you forget that your father was the one who gave her the Dark Lord’s diary in her  _ first year? _ ”

Draco paled, his anger draining out. He hated that he was like this, he hated that even decades after he still felt the full guilt of his family’s misdoings, as though he had been the one who pointed a wand to Ginny Weasley.

Astoria’s face flushed with anger. “You don’t get to do that,” she hissed, “You don’t get to play the victim. Merlin, this is why I hate fighting with you. It’s all teeth and claws until I hit a little bit of a sore spot, then it’s like  _ I’m _ the one who came after you.”

“No, you’re right,” Draco said, not looking at her, “I’ve no right. I’m just — Salazar, she has a  _ husband _ . I’m worried about  _ you _ .”

“Okay,” she said, softer.

“And Harry’s not as bad as you make him out to be —”

“Oh, it’s Harry now? Who has the crush now?” she mocked, but it was halfway to a tease.

“Yes, alright?” he snarked, “We’ve both got crushes on the Potters, are you happy now?”

“I will after you refill my glass,” she said, and Draco took the olive branch, as thorned as it was. Astoria was his closest confidant these days. He wouldn’t know what he’d do without her.

Draco went down to the manor’s library the next afternoon and looked through its collection for resources on Muggle electricity. He expected to find none, given his family’s history, but to his surprise, the catalogue led him to a small trove of books dedicated to exactly that subject. He took out the most recently published one and brought it out to the garden to read. He made it through the first chapter —  _ For centuries our wizarding ancestors have cultivated the temperance of magic, although it was only in recent generations that wizarding dwellings have been identified as sources of magic. Perhaps the —  _ before, under the brunt of the sun burning too hot overhead, he fell asleep until Harry found him several hours late.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Harry said, shaking him awake, “But do you think you can show me the way to the Quidditch pitch?”

“The Quidditch pitch? Isn’t that at Hogwarts?” Draco asked, dazed. The sun was just setting; it glared into his eyes. 

“Oh,” Harry said, sounding baffled, “Maybe I’m mistaken, Ginny said that Astoria asked us to meet at the manor for a round of two-on-two.”

“Oh.” Draco’s eyes grew round. “Oh, right. I’ll show you the way then.”

Harry chewed at his lip, looking nervous. “Did Astoria not tell you?”

“She never tells me anything. I haven’t even flown since Scorpius was born.” That bitch. Draco would bet the manor that she had purposefully forgotten to tell him. He wouldn’t even put it past her to deliberately instruct the house elves to refuse Harry instructions to the pitch so that he’d spend the evening wandering around, just so she’d get more time alone with Ginny.

“I was looking forward to flying against you again.” Harry was still chewing his lip. “I’m sorry it was a surprise.”

Draco felt a rush of pleasure —  _ Harry Potter! _ Wanting to play against  _ him! _ — followed by an immediate pang of guilt. Here Harry was, naively looking forward to playing Quidditch while Astoria was hitting on his wife right under his nose. Draco felt as though he were leading a lamb to the slaughter.

He pulled Harry aside before they reached the pitch. “Look, Potter. I’m sorry for Astoria. She doesn’t mean anything by it. She’ll get over it in a couple of weeks. She’s just excited about her new job, alright?” he apologized.

Harry looked almost amused. “It’s fine, Draco.”

They got to the pitch. The women whooped their arses; they’d both played on the Harpies, after all. Watching them streak across the sky, Draco thought that he and Harry had really married rather similar women. Except for the part where Harry was in love with his wife, and Draco was gay.

Draco wrote to Harry the next week. In the letter Draco wrote of how intrigued, he had spent the last week reading  _ On the Magical Temperance of Dwellings _ , which was suitably informative, and now that he was well-versed in theory, he was in want of testing it. But he required Muggle plug-in devices, so wouldn’t Harry please share the name of the proprietor from which he could commission a toaster?

To which Harry had replied,  _ yea, sure, i’ll take you. tmrw? 6 pm _ . Two lines scribbled on the back of an old receipt sent back with Draco’s owl.

Those two lines were to be the undoing of Draco Malfoy. It was so — so  _ flippant _ . The Malfoy in Draco wanted to be insulted at the carelessness in which his very formal, very polite letter was received. But then the response hadn’t been  _ no _ . In fact, it was the opposite. Harry was going to  _ personally escort _ Draco on his toaster commissioning experience. Him! Draco Malfoy! Draco floated on that feeling for a full hour, and then he’d remember the way Harry had written  _ yea _ , like Draco wasn’t even worth the time to finish off the word with an  _ h _ , and Draco would have the parchment out again, ready to quill Harry a refusal. So it was like this, swinging like a pendulum, that six in the evening finally came, and Draco found himself on the steps of Grimmauld Place.

Ginny opened the door. “He’s coming around back. It’ll be a few minutes,” she said. She leaned on the doorjamb. “How’s Astoria?”

“She’s fine,” Draco said automatically, distracted. And then he caught Ginny’s narrowed gaze and hastily added, “We went to Scorpius’s match yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s right, against Hufflepuff? How’d he do?”

“They put him in a bit during the last half,” Draco said, shrugging. Scorpius was not a natural flyer. Draco didn’t really care if Scorpius played Quidditch or not, and he suspected that Scorpius felt the same. The broom had been a Christmas gift from Astoria.

“At least he’s trying,” Ginny sighed, “I’ve tried to get Albus to play for years.”

“You’ve got James and Lily, at least,” Draco said. “I saw James flying last month. He’s shaping up to go pro.”

Ginny beamed. “He comes home on the weekends sometimes, I run him through drills — oh, here comes Harry.”

A honk sounded behind him. Draco turned around, surprised. He’d disillusioned himself from Muggles, he thought. And he was right because it was definitely a wizard on the motorbike. It was Harry Potter.

“Why don’t I owl Astoria and we can all have dinner after you two come back from the store?” Ginny suggested.

Draco had trouble looking away from the motorbike. Harry was leaning over its slick chrome handlebars, dressed in a leather jacket and matching leather pants as black as his hair. Did Harry expect Draco to  _ get on _ that thing?  _ Behind him? _ Draco’s mouth went dry. He could already imagine it, arms wrapped around Harry, chest pressed against Harry’s jacket, the smell of leather and fire. He unconsciously leaned toward the bike.

“Draco? You coming?” Harry called from the bike.

“Merlin,” Draco cursed. He could have sworn that Harry’s voice had gotten deeper, almost gravely through the noise of the engine. It was too much. It was like the Fiendfyre had burned the association of safety into the crook of Harry’s neck, and Draco couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

“I’ll see you at dinner, then?” Ginny smirked behind him.

“Great,” he said distantly, “That sounds great.”

Nobody told him that the motorbike  _ flew _ .

Harry parked the motorbike and Draco followed him through doors that opened magically to rows upon rows of Muggle curiosities illuminated under an unearthly white light nearly painful in their intensity. “Fluorescent lights,” Harry explained, “They last for years. Imagine never having to change out a wax candle.”

“Amazing,” Draco deadpanned. It wasn’t like he was changing the candle wax around Malfoy Manor anyway; the house-elves had that covered. But, he wasn’t lying. He  _ was _ amazed. He stopped in front of a moving picture screen.

“Television,” Harry said.

Draco turned to Harry. Harry was looking at him with a slight smile that made Draco’s heart race. Draco swallowed. He tried to make a joke. Something like, “You can have a telly-visor, and instead you’re tinkering around with something to  _ Incendio _ bread?” He wasn’t exactly sure what he said, because his whole face was burning up.

They were in the corner of the electronics department, behind an aisle of DVDs. There was no one else around. He didn’t know when Harry had gotten so close that all Draco could see was the white of Harry’s cotton tee. He was afraid of what he’d see if he looked up at Harry’s face. He was afraid that he’d see something that he’d want.

“Draco,” Harry said. “It’s fine.” He dragged three fingers down Draco’s cheek. Draco shivered, feeling hot and desperate and out of control. He raised his head and met Harry’s lips.

Astoria was already at Grimmauld Place. She had a glass of wine in her hand and was laughing at something Ginny said when Draco and Harry walked in and took their seats at the table. The table was meant to seat ten, or twelve, awkwardly long for the four of them, so they clustered around one end of it, to the side closer to the open window.

“Find what you need?” Ginny asked teasingly. She had a hand under her chin. Her hair was tied up in a bun, loose strands brushing her bare shoulders like little licks of flame. Draco thought that Harry must have found her to be devastatingly beautiful. Draco couldn’t meet her eyes.

Harry lifted the bag that contained Draco’s brand new toaster, grinning at Ginny. He looked like he was going to say something, but Astoria interrupted him.

“Draco darling, if you needed a Muggle appliance you could have just asked  _ me _ .” Astoria shared a look with Ginny.

Ginny gasped, giggling. “Surely you don’t mean to take Lee Jordan’s electric tea kettle from the breakroom? I like it there! It’s so funny looking..”

Astoria had her eyes on Draco. There was something hard in her smile that told Draco that she was annoyed that he hadn’t told her that she was visiting the Potters. She hated it when she didn’t know everything going on around her. She’d tried explaining it to him once. It had something to do with control. He raised his glass to his mouth and drank from it slowly, hiding behind it.

Harry had said that it was fine, and Draco had just taken it as consent. Except, what was  _ fine _ ? Did it mean that Harry was fine with cheating altogether? Because that still made Draco an accomplice, and  _ he _ wasn’t fine with that. Or did it just mean that kissing was alright because kissing wasn’t cheating? And who had decided that it was fine? Was it just Harry, or had he talked it through with Ginny, like some sort of progressive couple who liked to spice things up with other people sometimes?

Draco ran a finger across his lower lip. He didn’t like being used. But right now he felt used by everyone. By Harry, by Ginny, even by Astoria, who only wanted him here to get to Ginny. His stomach twisted.

“Draco? Are you alright?” Ginny asked.

Draco felt the room come back into focus. The three of them were looking at him. He vaguely remembered Ginny saying something about private Quidditch drills for Scorpius. She thought it’d encourage Albus to at least try. So he said sure if he wants to, why not.

The conversation moved and Draco’s attention drifted again. He watched it walk out the door and on Harry’s motorbike and through the double doors of the store, as though moving in reverse until he was under the bright lights of the electronics department again. Harry’s lips had been soft, his stubble scratchy against Draco’s chin. He had put a hand behind Draco’s head and drawn him in until Draco’s hands were caged between them, pressed weakly against Harry’s chest.

Draco had imagined kissing Harry before. Of course, he had. He’d dreamed of kissing Harry as early as the fourth year when Draco hadn’t taken the Mark yet, and Harry had only hated Draco. He could overcome that hate, Draco had thought. And he thought of it every month until that day in the second-floor girl’s bathroom. Draco didn’t need to be told again, not when he had the scars on his chest to remind him.

So this was all a bit surreal. Sure, some part of him had always yearned to be close to Harry. But now that he had been, he couldn’t think of a single reason why Harry would kiss him that wasn’t a part of some cruel joke.

He felt himself get hot. He wanted to throw up. He stood up and kicked back his chair. “I just remembered I needed to check on my potions,” he blurted out. “Is it alright if I use your fireplace?” He was already halfway out the door.

Astoria, being the dramatic bitch she was, sent him an owl the next day from the window of her room at the manor three doors down from Draco’s own. “I want a copy of your apology to the Potters on my desk before you even dream of speaking to me again,” she quilled on official Malfoy letterhead, which was just  _ so _ absolutely Astoria that Draco knew better than to protest. He had his apology on her desk in thirty minutes, even if he rolled his eyes so much while writing it that he was lucky they didn’t just roll right out of their sockets.

She cornered him in the library exactly an hour after he’d sent it.

Draco was reading a letter from Scorpius. He put it down when she sat in the armchair across from him. “Come to inquire about my potions?” he greeted.

She scowled. “Oh shut it. Why’d you lie?”

Draco thought about telling her. He was dying to tell someone. A secret like that ate you up from the inside if you didn’t get it out of you fast. But Astoria had gotten so close to Ginny lately that he wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t immediately turn tail and tell Ginny. He decided he couldn’t deal with her judgment today, so he shrugged, and picked up Scorpius’s letter again.

“Draco,” she growled. “Don’t tell me you got into some sort of fight with Potter while at the Muggle shop. I swear the way he was looking at you all dinner like he was just waiting for you to snarl at him. It was like you were in school again! Merlin, have you really not grown up the slightest since then, it’s like you see him and you’re a horrid teen all over again —”

“Why do you care so much?” Draco snapped. It wasn’t like she wanted him there. She should’ve been pleased; one less person to distract Ginny from herself.

“How dare you ask me why I care,” she accused, “How  _ dare _ you. You’re my  _ ex-husband _ . We share a  _ child _ . Everything you  _ do _ matters to me.”

Draco noticed the tremor in her hand, the stark paleness of her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said, “You matter to me too.” And it was true. What she did matter to him. He was responsible for her, after all. He only never realized it was the same for her.

So it was with a great lump in his throat that he lied to her anyway and said, “The Potters drive me crazy,” and watched her swallow the bait and launch into several minutes on Ginny’s extreme Quidditch parenting practices.

“I’m glad we’re not like them,” she grinned when she finished, affectionately dropping a hand on Draco’s knee.

Harry sent him a reply the next day.  _ no need to apologize. ok if I stop by this sat? still have the toaster. _

Draco thought about checking in with Astoria about Harry coming over. He imagined lunch with the four of them out on the lake, him sitting diagonally from Ginny again. He imagined her eyes narrowing at him in suspicion, the guilt blooming over his cheeks.

He checked Astoria’s calendar instead. She was out for tea with her sister in the afternoon, so Draco asked Harry to come at three.

When Harry came he met Draco at the gate. Draco waited for the house elves to open the gate, the gate complaining every inch of the way. Nobody came by gate anymore. Nobody except Harry, who had come by motorbike.

Harry handed him the bag with the toaster. And then he lingered in front of the gate for a second too long, just long enough for Draco to invite him in. The house-elves had exerted so much effort into opening the gate, Draco reasoned. The least he could do was let someone pass through it.

Harry crossed through the gate and followed him to the kitchen to plug the toaster in. And then Draco remembered he was supposed to call the wiring company the week before, but he’d forgotten to, so there was nothing to actually plug the toaster in to. Harry laughed uproariously at that, a sort of belly-clenching, bent-over laugh that Draco suspected the walls of the manor had never bore witnessed to before. And then Harry had lifted him on the kitchen counter and kissed him again, and Draco suspected that the manor had never witnessed  _ that _ either. From the height he leaned over Harry, drawing him in between his legs, ankles locking behind Harry’s back. It’d never felt like this before, he thought. He didn’t know it could be so good. And it was just a bit of necking, what they were doing. Teenagers did it. Hell, Scorpius probably did it.

Draco banished that thought quickly.

They necked their way down the hall, pressing against the wall every few steps until they fumbled their way onto Draco’s bed. Harry slipped a hand down the back of Draco’s trousers, biting him on the collarbone, and Draco moaned under him, rutting up. Harry was so warm that Draco was starting to sweat, delirious. Harry’s hand caught his and pushed it up over his head, and Draco caught a glint of gold, like jewellery, like a ring. And then his heart stopped.

He rolled Harry over, pushing him down so that he could sit upon his chest and take heaving breaths until he could think again. Harry ground up against him, hips moving in circles. His hands gripped the sides of Draco’s hip. Draco pressed a hand against Harry’s chest. “S-Stop,” he stammered out so quiet that even he was unsure of what he was saying. He took another breath. “Stop.”

Harry stopped. He was leaned up against Draco’s cushions, his gaze soft. He lifted a hand toward Draco’s face.

Draco slapped it away. He said, “You’re wearing your ring.”

“Is that it?” Harry leaned forward, reaching for Draco’s face again. Draco let him, Harry’s thumb massaging circles behind Draco’s ear. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

“What does that even mean?” Draco demanded.

Harry leaned back and sighed. He closed his eyes, as though recalling a bad memory. Draco watched him and deflated. He wanted to get off Harry and climb under the bed and hide. Finally, Harry said, “Gin and I, we’ve got a sort of — what we're doing is fine.”

“So she fucks other people,” Draco said slowly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, but he didn’t seem happy about it.

“And you’ve also — fucked other people. It’s just something you two do. Have one-offs with other people.” Draco felt a chill come over him.

“No, well.” Harry smiled up at him. “I guess I could’ve. But I haven’t.”

Draco’s heart rose and caught in his throat. He thought if he spoke now his voice would crack. Instead, he schooled his face into a smirk and ran a nail down Harry’s hip. “Until me, I suppose,” he said, voice light and flirtatious.

“Until you.” Harry’s green eyes had never looked so black. Draco thought he could look straight into him.

It was enough to disarm Draco. He lunged forward, pressing his mouth against Harry’s until it opened beneath him. If Ginny had her fun, why couldn’t Draco? Harry was right. This was fine.

Except it wasn’t fine.

Draco reached around for his shirt. He pulled it on, buttoning the sleeves. He didn’t look at Harry. He didn’t look even when Harry ran a hand down his spine and asked him what he was doing.

“Astoria’s going to get back soon,” Draco explained. He flipped a corner of the comforter over, looking for his pants. He found Harry’s instead, and turned, handing it to him. “You don’t want her to find out, do you?”

Harry’s brow was furrowed. “I thought you two were divorced.”

“We are. But if she finds out she’ll tell your wife. They’re close these days, you know.” His voice was light, nearly mocking. It curdled his stomach. He found his pants then and slid off the bed to put them on.

Harry was still frowning. “I told you, it’s fine —”

Except how  _ could _ it be fine? Even if Ginny was okay with it, how could Draco be okay with sleeping around with someone who was still married to someone else? Harry wasn’t tied down to  _ him _ . Eventually, he’ll get bored with Draco and go back to Ginny. And then Draco wouldn’t even be able to cherish the memories, because all of them would be stained with the backdrop of knowing that Harry was never fully  _ his _ .

Draco had never been good at sharing. “This is just a one-off thing, alright? So it’ll just be easier if we don’t tell.”

Harry’s mouth thinned to a line. Draco looked away to pull on his trousers. He heard Harry say, “Fine. That’s fine.”

Draco crouched down to tie his shoes. He looped one lace through, securing it. And then he moved onto the second shoe, painfully aware of the bite of thread on his finger as the silence stretched on.

He stood up when he was done. Harry was still sitting up in Draco’s bed, his arms crossed. Draco couldn’t help but stare at his naked chest. He swallowed. “I’m glad you understand,” he said. “You’re welcome to use the bathroom. But I must insist that you leave before five. The house-elves can show you out.” And then he looked at Harry one last time, willing the image to burn in his mind, before turning on his heel.

Draco wrote a long, winding letter to Harry the next week. He was having trouble wiring the manor, he explained. The Muggle electricians had all been unwilling to wire up something of its size, which was alright with Draco in the end, because he was wary of Muggles on his property anyway. Not because he despised them, he was quick to add. Only for their personal safety; he didn’t know what traps his ancestors had left behind, but he was sure they were all very dark. Wouldn’t Harry please recommend his electrician, one who was surely familiar with Wizarding Homes?

The letter spanned two pieces of parchment. Draco rolled one in the other and affixed both with the official Malfoy seal.

Harry responded on a scrap of parchment clearly written on the back of Draco’s letter.  _ sure. come over tmrw after 6? _

Ginny spent Thursdays at six at Hogwarts running a Quidditch clinic, so it was just the two of them in the house when Harry went around showing Draco how the electricians had installed the wiring. They went around and followed the wiring from room to room until they ended in Harry’s, the one he didn’t share with Ginny. Draco caught Harry looking at his mouth, and said, “Alright, fine,” and then he was pushing Harry down onto the comforter gasping, “Maybe it can be a multi-time thing. But no more than a dozen times.”

Harry liked it when Draco said things like “You’re incredible” and “You make me feel so good” and “Can you, please. Merlin, please, you’re so good.” Draco knew Harry liked it because his thighs would always tighten then, as though he had to stop himself from coming, all because Draco had praised him. It gave Draco a little thrill every time, like a morsel of power.

Draco thought Harry would like it even more if Draco let himself say things like, “It’s never as good with anyone else,” and “Only you make me feel this way,” words bubbling up at the tip of his tongue. But then he started wondering what Ginny said when she was straddling Harry’s thighs, and then the words fizzled out and he grew quiet and hid his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, where it was safe, and Ginny didn’t exist.

Draco finished first, coming over Harry’s chest in an unexpected rush, Harry’s cock still fat within him. He hadn’t meant to come. It was always too much after he came. And Harry was already so big. But it had felt so good. He couldn’t have stopped.

Harry rolled him over and pressed down onto him, rutting into him shallowly. Draco shivered around him, whimpering incoherently until Harry came in him with a soft groan.

Harry didn’t talk during sex. Which was fine, because he talked plenty after. Harry talked of Ron, or Hermione, or Luna, until all of the names and faces of people Draco used to know blended into one and he fell asleep, his head comfortable against Harry’s shoulder.

And then eight-thirty came, so Draco left.

“Ginny wants us over again,” Astoria announced a few weeks later. “She thought we could get dinner before the Gryffindor-Slytherin match this Saturday.”

Draco looked up from behind his desk. He was finishing off the last paragraph of his letter to Scorpius. “Don’t stress too much about Quidditch,” he had written, “Your studies are more important. The Unspeakables are not going to test your ability to beat a bludger.” A box of chocolates laid on the desk, ready to be sent with the letter.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked. Scorpius had always been insecure about his flying. He’d only barely made it on the team, and even then he spent most games on the bench, the only fourth-year among first-years. It was hard enough on him that his mother had won the Cup for the Tutshill Tornados three consecutive years in a row, but for them to come, sitting with the parents of James Potter, the most promising Seeker Hogwarts had seen in decades — that was too much. Scorpius had always been sensitive.

Astoria wrinkled her nose. “You coddle him too much. He’s fifteen, Draco. I think he can handle not being the best.”

“I never understand why you push him so hard on Quidditch. He’s never taken to it.”

Astoria sighed. “I’m not having this argument with you again, Draco. And I know you’re not keen on having it either. So what is it? Why don’t you want to go? I thought you were getting on with Harry now. Gin says he’s gotten nearly delightful now that he’s — and I quote her —  _ made a new friend _ .”

Draco shuddered. Astoria was grinning now. “She even said that they  _ did it _ .” She leaned back, cackling. “She said it was the first time they’d done it in years. Can you imagine!  _ Years. _ Merlin, every day I’m more thankful that we’re divorced.”

Draco felt a chill entering his heart. He was with Harry only yesterday. They’d established a sort of routine that averaged around three times a week. It was the most sex per week he’d ever had. So he had sort of assumed that Harry hadn’t been fucking Ginny too, because if he was already getting it from Ginny, then why would he come to Draco?

“Draco?” Astoria eyed him.

It wouldn’t do any good to have her suspicious, so he turned it back on her. “I thought you’d be more disappointed,” he said. He waggled his brows for effect, something he personally found uncouth but never failed to delight Astoria.

Astoria snorted. “God, Draco, I was never actually serious about that. She has a husband! I know you think I’m awful but I can’t believe you’d think I’d go after a married woman.”

“They have a sort of — open thing.”

“Really? How do you know?” Astoria gasped, clapping her hands together. She lived for the sordid details of other people’s lives.

“Just came up,” Draco lied. “So you have a chance, see.”

Astoria giggled. “Thanks, but I’m over it. She’s not — well, she’s not exactly who I thought she’d be.” Her eyes got a bit of a faraway look in them. “Not to say she isn’t a great friend,” she hurried to add, “She is — just, you know, not my type.”

Draco never thought that Astoria had actually  _ wanted  _ to date anyone else seriously. Sure, they both had their occasional dalliance, but ever since Scorpius, it had always been just the two of them at the end of the day. Draco didn’t know what to do. Draco didn’t know Astoria could  _ get  _ sad.

“Merlin, you sound pathetic,” Draco complained, “When’s the last time you pulled?”

Astoria shrieked, half-delighted. “Draco! You can’t just  _ ask _ that.”

“We’ll just have to sit next to the fit parents at the match on Saturday,” Draco teased.

“Alright, alright,” she said, still giggling as she walked out the door, “We’ll ditch the Potters first chance we get, find an attractive couple sitting uncomfortably apart, swoop in — it’ll be perfect!” 

Draco flipped through his calendar. It was Wednesday. He was seeing Harry on Thursday, which gave him enough time to end things with Harry before the match on Saturday. It was fine. More than fine. It was perfect.

Except when Draco walked into his parlour, he saw that Harry was waiting for him wearing a white tee so thin you could see his nipples through them, and Draco couldn’t resist. Harry pulled him in, laughing, and Draco sucked Harry off right up next to the fireplace, Harry’s fingers still smudged with soot as they furled and unfurled in Draco’s hair, tugging when he came in Draco’s mouth.

Draco swallowed. He wiped his mouth self-consciously when he caught Harry staring.

“Alright, your turn? Maybe on the bed this time,” Harry chuckled, leading him down the hall. 

Draco laid out on the bed with his pants pulled down to his ankles as Harry licked a strip up to the tip of his cock. Harry took Draco in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. Draco gasped, trying not to thrust up, trying not to pull at Harry’s curls. “It’s so good,” he panted, “Merlin, you’re amazing.”

Harry groaned around his cock. Draco jerked up when he sucked down to the base.

Harry released his cock with a wet slurp. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Draco had never wanted to do anything else so much in his life. They’d never done it that way before. Draco made it a policy not to push for anything that Harry didn’t suggest. He was afraid of overstepping any boundaries that Ginny may have established, but it seemed like Ginny hadn’t established any boundaries at all. She’d just let Harry do what he wanted, with whomever he wanted.

_ As long as she got a slice of the pie too _ , Draco thought bitterly, recalling Astoria’s words. What was he  _ doing _ ? He had come to end it. He was done with feeling like shit after sex. He pushed Harry off.

“You don’t have to fuck me if you don’t want to,” Harry said, looking worried. He tried reaching for Draco’s cock again. “What did I do wrong?” he asked when Draco shirked back.

“It’s not that,” Draco admitted, finally finding his voice after he’d willed his erection down. “It’s — I don’t want to do this anymore.” Which would have been a much stronger argument if he’d said that from the start, instead of halfway through with evidence of how much he wanted it still in his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Harry raised a hand toward his cheek. Draco shook it off. Harry was always touching Draco when they argued. It usually worked. But Draco needed this to end to  _ be _ happy.

“Surely you don’t need me anymore, now that you’re fucking your wife again,” he heard himself sneer.

Harry sat back on his heels, still naked. “I thought we’ve already talked about this. I told you, it’s fine.”

Draco’s nostrils flared. “You’re disgusting,” Draco denounced, “Absolutely disgusting. Tell me, do you imagine her when you’re fucking me, or is it the other way around?”

Harry was shaking his head. “It’s not like that. She just wanted to try. We hadn’t even done it in years. I —”

“She doesn’t even like you,” Draco said, his voice gnarled and venomous, “You should hear what she says about you behind your back. Says you’re good-for-nothing. Says you’re like her fourth child —”

“Draco,” Harry rasped. His forehead was pinched tightly. He was looking at the sheets, his thumb pressed so hard against his index finger that they had both gone white. “I know that, okay. I know she thinks I’m a disappointment.”

Draco felt his chest hollow out. He had wanted to hurt Harry, and he’d succeeded, but he desperately wished he hadn’t. He wanted to tell Harry no, that he wasn’t a disappointment. How  _ could _ he even think of himself as a disappointment, how  _ dare _ Ginny even suggest it, Harry had to be one of the only good things in the  _ world _ .

“Why do you even bother with me?” Draco trembled. He took a shaky breath. “You don’t even  _ like _ me, why do you —”

“I never said that.”

“You’ve never said you liked me either.”

Harry looked exasperated. “Does that even change anything, Draco?”

No, it didn’t. Even if Harry liked him, he still wanted to fuck his wife. Still, Draco couldn’t stop himself from asking, “So is this just sex then? Or do you actually like me.”

“Draco, don’t —”

“I mean, it’s fine if it’s just sex. Actually, it makes it a lot easier, because if it’s just sex and you’re already getting it from your wife, then we can just stop.”

“Draco —”

“Unless I’m just so phenomenal at sex that you need it with me, the physical part, but then the rest you’ll get from her. Which I can understand too. I’m stupendously good at sex. If there was a course on sex at Hogwarts I’d have gotten an Outstanding in it, don’t you think? We can —”

“Draco!” Harry yelled. He was still shaking his head. He hadn’t stopped shaking his head since they’d started talking.

“What’d you interrupt me for, if you’re just going to stand there and shake?” Draco mocked.

“You can’t just do that,” Harry said. “You can’t just ask me that when you’ve made it clear that you only want me for sex when you already know how much I like you. That’s cruel, even for you.”

“I never said that.” Draco wet his lips, flushing a little. “I mean, obviously I don’t want you just for sex.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly, frustrated. “You’re not obvious at all. I never know what you’re thinking. You never tell me anything. Anytime I try to bring up parts of your life you reflect it back onto me. It’s like you don’t want me to see you at all.”

It was true. Draco always wanted to hide from Harry, because he knew that if Harry saw his true colours, he’d leave him. But here he was anyway, with Harry all but confessing that he liked Draco, and he couldn’t savour it for a second because he knew none of it mattered, because at the end of the day Harry was still married to Ginny.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, like you said,” Draco said, “How I feel. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Because you’re still with Ginny.”

“I’m not going to leave her if that’s what you’re asking. She’s the mother of my children. I love her.”

Draco winced. Harry hadn’t said anything that Draco didn’t already know. But hearing it confirmed out loud hurt more than Draco could have ever imagined.

“Fine,” Draco heard himself saying. “That’s fine.”

“So, we’re good?” Harry asked. He was already leaning toward Draco again.

Draco jerked back so hard he nearly fell off the bed. “Absolutely not,” he said. “It may not change the situation but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to —”

Astoria’s voice floated from the other side of the door. “Draco? Are you alright in there?” She jiggled the handle. Draco froze. It was past eight. Astoria was already home from dinner with her parents. “Why’s it locked? You never lock the door. Draco, are you alright? Stand back, I’m going to cast an  _ Alohomora _ —”

“Mordred’s bloody tits!” she shrieked when she saw the two of them on the bed, entirely naked except for a hastily positioned pillow.

Draco staggered off the bed toward Astoria, hands pleading. But she’d backed out the door.

Draco turned back to Harry. Harry had started pulling on his clothes. He looked dishevelled and miserable.

“Don’t worry,” Draco reassured, “She won’t tell.”

It didn’t help.

“If you’re coming to threaten me, there’s no need. I shan’t tell a soul,” Astoria said as Draco approached. Her voice was cool and even, but she had her knees pulled into her chest. Her hand trembled as she held a glass to her lips.

He sat down on the rug next to her armchair so that he looked up to her. And then he waited for her to start shouting. But she didn’t. She didn’t even touch her drink. So Draco said, “You should be happy to know that I’ve ended things.”

She snorted. “You’d be more convincing if you didn’t look so miserable. How long?”

“Since the day we went and got that toaster.”

“I thought you seemed weird during dinner then,” she mused.

“We made out next to the telly-visors,” he confessed. It felt good to tell her. It felt like he was handing her some of the responsibility to shoulder. Next, she’d tell him that he’d made the right choice, to end things, even if he hadn’t made the right choice to start. And then maybe he’d stop feeling so bad about it.

She slid down the armchair so that she sat on the rug in front of it, knees knocked against his. He turned to her just as she closed her eyes and kissed him. Her hand came up to run along the side of his face, where Harry’s hand had been only half an hour before. Except kissing her was nothing like kissing Harry. Kissing Astoria felt like pressing a glass of ice water against his forehead. He felt a calm wash over him as he pulled back.

“Why’d you do that?” he asked. He wasn’t mad or surprised. It was like his whole heart had been slathered with a soothing balm. They’d never kissed before. Sure, they’d had sex about a dozen or so times, but that had been for Scorpius, and they’d barely even known each other then. It had been more a transactional sharing of responsibilities toward their respective families than an act of passion, or even two friends, fooling around.

She shrugged. She was rubbing her lower lip with her index finger. “Wanted to see what I was missing out on,” she smirked, but it was forced.

“Did you feel anything?”

“No. Did you?”

“No. Did you expect to?”

She sighed. “I just thought —” she mumbled, looking ashamed then, the tips of her ears blushing the faintest pink, “I thought you’d be the one. Just that we’d never tried it properly before, you know. But if we did, then — you’d be the one for me.”

Draco was taken aback. “We got a divorce,” he reminded her dumbly

“Yes, I  _ know _ that. We got it, but then neither of us really — dated other people. I mean, we still lived together. And then I got to know you, and — it was like we were still together, or something. I just — I have all these illogical feelings for you. I always want to know where you are. I get jealous when you’d go out without me. Merlin, I hated Harry so much when we started seeing the Potters. I kept on thinking that if I had known you’d be so taken by Potter I would never have even picked up the job at the Prophet. I think that’s why I leaned in so hard on Ginny. She’s not even — I mean, she’s great, but she’s not  _ you _ . So I kept thinking, if these feelings don't mean love, then what are they? So it had to be love. But then when we kissed, just now, there was just — nothing.”

It struck Draco then that they’d never really talked about their divorce before. In a way, their divorce had been as much of their parent’s choice as their marriage. He’d always assumed that she wanted it as much as he did. He’d never asked.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Draco said. “Merlin, you better not repeat to anyone what I’m going to say next. It’s embarrassing enough as is. But.” He took in a deep breath. “I do love you, Astoria. What we have, it’s love. Just a different type of love. You know, you’re my favourite person. You’re my family.”

He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, but it had felt right to say that what they had was love. Because he loved her. She was his responsibility, after all, and he was hers, and Scorpius theirs.

“Don’t you see,” he continued, “I’m the same as you. I can’t live without you. No matter who I date —  _ if _ I ever date again, if I don’t die from shame after my last disaster — you’ll always be the mother of my child. You’re stuck with me forever. And I’m glad it’s you, and not anyone else.” He wanted to laugh. “I suppose I ought to thank my parents for choosing you for me.”

“You’ll do for me too, I suppose.” Her voice was cool again, but there was a smile in the corner of her mouth. She rubbed her eyes. And then she told him that she loved him too.

Astoria promised she’d make his excuses for that Saturday, even though she said he was making a mistake. “You’re stupider than I thought if you think he doesn’t love you,” she said, “He can’t keep his eyes off you when you’re in the same room. I think that’s why I hated him so much. Because it was so obvious that he wanted you.”

It was undeniably good to hear her say that. But it didn’t change anything. Draco already knew Harry wanted him, and it didn’t change anything at all. “Do you think Ginny noticed?” 

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Merlin, no. When I said obvious I meant obvious to _ Slytherins _ . Gryffindors only pick up signals if you shove it down their throat.” Her eyes glinted then. “Do you think a disproportionate percentage of Muggle screenwriters are Gryffindors? They’ve got an unnatural proclivity toward dramatic declarations of affection.” She put on an affected voice: “You have bewitched me, body and soul and I love — I love —- I love you!”

They had gone to the Muggle theatre last night to watch  _ Pride and Prejudice _ .

“You’re going to make me snort up my lunch,” Draco complained, trying not to laugh. She saluted him, grinning, as she left through the fireplace.

In the turmoil of his emotions, Draco had entirely forgotten that he’d booked an appointment with the wiring company that Harry recommended the following Tuesday morning. So he was in for a bit of a shock when he walked into the parlour and ran into Harry there, with two men and a woman wearing matching heavy-duty shirts and tool belts around their waists. Draco was still in his bathrobe and blushed pink to the roots.

“Hello,” Harry said wryly. 

“Hi,” Draco said back dumbly. “Do you need anything from me to get started?”

The three workers looked at him as to say,  _ Of course, you idiot. Don’t you own this place? _ But Harry stepped in then and said, “No, I’ve got it from here.”

Draco nodded without really seeing anything. He walked back to his bathroom where he splashed water on his face for two minutes longer than necessary before he got dressed and went back out to look for the crew.

Draco found them tapping at the wall in the piano room. He confronted Harry. “Don’t you have better things to do on a Tuesday? Don’t you have work?”

“Does it look like I’m on vacation?” Harry grumbled. He brandished a wrench, blissfully unaware with how stupidly charming he looked in that old shirt, rolled up to the elbows.

Draco left the room. If Harry was going to be like that, then  _ fine _ .

Harry came back the next day.

“How long is this going to take?” Draco demanded.

“A manor this size, two weeks, at least,” the woman replied. She looked to be the leader of the trio and was watching the other two measure out the length of the ballroom.

“You can’t have that much time off,” Draco said to Harry.

“I’m on leave.” Harry was tapping the wall again. Draco had no idea what for. He didn’t  _ think _ there were any more bodies left in the walls.

“You can’t be on leave,” Draco hissed. “You’re the Head. The Head doesn’t just take time off. Without you, they’re literally headless.”

Harry sighed. He gave Draco a look even though Draco could tell that he didn’t want to look at Draco at all if he could help it. The look said,  _ can you just drop it _ . Draco took the hint and left.

“He’s really just skipping out on work, isn’t he?” Astoria commented to Draco on the third day. They were sitting by the fireplace and watching Harry and his team map out the library, which was an especially tricky room given the layers and layers of hidden rooms. One of the men would yelp whenever a door disappeared on him. Draco had a hard time stifling his laugh every time it happened.

“Looks like it,” Draco said, eyes still trained on Harry’s back. “What did you say Ginny called him again? Useless? Wasteman? Sure living up to her expectations, isn’t he.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “You could be more grateful for him, you know. He’s skipping out on work so he can do yours for you. And you don’t even  _ have _ work.”

Draco ignored the barb. “Why aren’t you at work, anyway?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t feel up to it. Called in sick.”

On the fourth day, Draco cornered Harry when he was heading out for the day. He said, “What, you’re just not going to talk to me anymore?”

Harry rounded on him so fast Draco felt whiplashed.

“You’re the one who wanted to end things,” Harry growled. He shoved Draco back against the wall. Draco felt his heart going fast. Harry smelled so good, like sweat and leather and oil, like his motorbike. Like sex. They were going to have sex again. Draco knew it.

Harry pushed him into the parlour and onto the chaise. His hand skimmed over Draco’s clothed crotch and already Draco thought he was going to come. Harry helped him out of his trousers and kneaded his arse, trailing a finger over his entrance. Draco whimpered, little begging breaths until Harry finally sank in a finger and Draco cried out a raspy, desperate breath. “You make me so good, I feel like I’m going to come already,” Draco murmured, “This can’t just be sex, it feels too good —”

Harry paused then, for only a second, before pressing in another finger. “It’s only sex. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I do!” Draco insisted, panting. “I do, I know — oh Merlin, right there — I know you don’t like your job. You’ve never liked it. You only did it because you thought someone had to.” He babbled on, even surprising himself with how much he knew about Harry. “You don’t like carrots, Hermione’s pregnant, you think, you think coffee’s actually better than tea, but you don’t want to make a fuss — you never want to make a fuss, you don’t —”

Harry slid in then, a slow, smooth burn that never seemed to end. Draco’s fingers curled around the trim of the chaise, just barely holding on. His bum was in the air, facing the fireplace. If anyone popped by the first thing they’d see was Draco, with Harry deep in his arse. 

“Keep talking,” Harry commanded.

“You’re so big,” Draco said immediately, “You feel so good, it feels like you’re touching everything inside me like you’re — you’re the only one who knows me that deep. It’s never like this with anyone else. Oh, Merlin, I can feel you in me, like — I’m going to come — Harry, please,” Draco whined, shoulders shuddering. He could barely keep himself up, if he didn’t come soon he thought he was going to die.

Harry’s hand went to Draco’s cock and stroked it with his calloused hands. Draco shuddered almost immediately, coming streaking across the chaise. He felt Harry coming behind him, slumping over him and Draco’s arms collapsed, chest crashing down onto the chaise.

“You really think that?” Harry was murmuring in his ear.

“What?” Draco was too sex-drunk to think.

“That it’s not like this with anyone else.”

Draco blushed. He hadn’t meant to — “Sure, it’s not,” he feigned nonchalance. “Either way it doesn’t matter.”

“You keep on saying that,” Harry said, anger rising in his voice.

“Nothing matters as long as you’re still with Ginny,” Draco snapped defensively. He suddenly felt too naked. He pushed Harry off.

“You keep saying that, and you keep not believing me when I tell you it’s fine.”

“Because it’s not! Merlin! I’m not going to help you cheat on your wife, even if you’re fine with it!”

“You never listen to me,” Harry growled. “It’s like you want me to be the bad guy. Like you want this to be a bad situation so that you can sabotage it before it gets anywhere good. You don’t actually want me, you just want to feel filthy.”

“I — I’m not. That’s not, that’s not true.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, I’m not a bad guy. The only problem with what we’re doing is you,” Harry said. He was so angry that the magic was putting his clothes back on for him. Trousers sliding up his thighs, white tee unstitching and restitching across his torso, boot laces knotting themselves. He left through the fireplace.

The next day Draco woke up, went to the bathroom, and then crawled back into bed until it was the next day again. He did this for the next few days.

On the ninth day, Astoria asked him out to lunch and didn’t tell him that Ginny Weasley would also be there.

“Hey, Draco,” Ginny greeted before Draco could flee.

“Hi,” he croaked out.

“Harry still helping you with the wiring?”

“Oh yes,” Astoria interjected. “Very helpful. There all day, working the whole time. Never met a duller boy.”

“You aren’t still mad at him, are you, Draco?” Ginny asked, looking worried.

Draco froze. She continued, “Because honestly, it was just a misunderstanding. It’s making him miserable, not speaking with you. Take pity on him, won’t you?”

Draco turned to Astoria, his mouth agape. She had a gleeful glint in her eye that told Draco that she  _ knew _ , she knew that Ginny — 

“Oh, did Harry not tell you I knew?” Ginny asked, looking confused. “I can see how that could be shocking. But I’ve known since the start. He tells me everything, you know.”

“I’m so sorry,” Draco blurted out, “I — I — I — he told me it was  _ fine _ .”

Ginny reached out for his hand. “It  _ is  _ fine. We’re divorced too, did Harry not tell you? We’ve only decided to keep our wedding bands on so it stays out of the papers until the kids are older. Did Harry really not tell you?”

“He told me he still loves you,” Draco said, still in shock.

“Merlin, that boy can be an idiot,” Ginny muttered. “Alright, sure. I suppose he’s not wrong. I love him too. But it’s the same with you and Astoria, isn’t it? Don’t you love her too?”

“But, the wedding bands, and you live together —”

“You utter buffoon,” Astoria laughed, lifting her left hand, her wedding band glinting, “Did you forget that  _ we _ live together too?”

“I — yes — I —” Draco babbled, fumbling with his own wedding band, which  _ he _ still wore. So it wasn’t entirely impossible that Harry and Ginny were actually divorced. But — how could he have been so mistaken? Godric’s balls, the next time he saw Harry he was going to  _ castrate _ him, how could anyone be so utterly terrible at  _ communication _ — 

Astoria leaned over and took a forkful of his salmon. “What?” she shrugged when he glared at her, “Didn’t look like you were going to eat it.”

Draco rushed back to the manor and found Harry in the kitchen. Draco took him by the shirt and dragged him onto his bed. “You didn’t tell me you were  _ divorced _ ,” he choked out, “You let me feel like a horrible person —”

“You didn’t know? I could have sworn —”

Draco kissed him to shut him up.

They returned to the kitchen. Draco took out the toaster from its box, and Harry plugged it in, fiddling with the dial, but nothing happened, so Draco took out his wand and tapped at the toaster. He thought the toaster looked a bit warmer, so he tapped it again, and again until the lever started moving up and down happily as though wagging its tail. Draco fed the toaster a slice of bread, and it came out exactly how Draco liked it — slightly chewy. And then Harry tried the same and got back toast so crunchy it was nearly burnt all the way through, although he seemed to like it too.

“You really did it,” Harry said. He sounded relieved. “What did you do?”

“I fed it magic until it collected enough to be a miniature magic source. Once that happens, the magic sort of adapts around the object until it figures out how it fits into the manor’s ecosystem. Why? You want me to come to fix yours too then?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to go in on this business idea with me. Wiring wizarding homes, introducing Muggle appliances to them. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, I’ve wanted to quit the Aurors for forever. I was just missing this last part —”

Draco let Harry go on about the details of the business. When he finished Draco commented, “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?” It wasn’t a bad idea. Magic always required the active attention of the caster, so even if magic could do everything quicker than Muggles, it couldn’t do more than one thing at a time. Plus, Muggle appliances were more consistent than their magical counterparts, which didn’t matter much for most wizards but was a growing issue for elderly wizards who had over the course of decades lost their fine control of magic. The only part of Harry’s business plan that didn’t make sense was the fact that it already existed. Up until now, Harry hadn’t even known if Muggle appliances could reliably be powered in wizarding homes. If Draco hadn’t gotten it to work, then there would be no use for the business plan at all.

So Draco asked, “What if I wasn’t able to actually get it to work? What would you have done?”

“I didn’t really even think about it. I think I just trusted you,” Harry replied, blushing, “You’ve always been clever about that sort of thing.” Draco’s heart clenched. He grabbed Harry’s hand and weaved it into his own, pulling it tight over his heart. It wasn’t quite a Hollywood-style declaration, nothing like “I love you most ardently,” or not even “You have bewitched me, body and soul” — hell, it was a  _ business proposition _ — but it was Draco’s, only Draco’s.

“Alright,” Draco laughed, “Let’s do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Sally Rooney's Conversations with Friends, which is a book about two girls who used to date befriending a married couple, and then actual infidelity ensues. Definitely not as lighthearted as this but nevertheless a great read, I'd highly recommend it! I tried to capture the moodiness of the book here actually, but honestly I think I failed haha. I really wanted to write a story where building a relationship was hard and came at a cost, but I think I... fluff'd it up. 😅 I'm just going to have to try again in another fic.
> 
> Thank you for reading! 💛 You can find me on [dw](https://fwooshy.dreamwidth.org/) and [tumblr](https://fw00shy.tumblr.com/).


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